


drowning

by undead_bunniez



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e02 Thirty-Eight Snub, Ficlet, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, the neverending party at jesse's only does so much to prevent a breakdown, then the levee breaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undead_bunniez/pseuds/undead_bunniez
Summary: "Jesse is drowning in his own living room, and he knows he deserves so much worse."© undead_bunniez 2020
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	drowning

Multicolored light from the sound system washes over the crowd in pulses as grimy bodies mash up against one another. The partygoers are partaking in all kinds of activity - some are drinking, some snorting or shooting up, and apparently some are cutting up a pizza with scissors. Badger and Skinny Pete take turns hitting a bong, slumping back as the thick smoke weighs them down into the futon.

Jesse stands dazed and still among the swarm, back up against a tower of subwoofers - the bass thrums in his chest like it alone is keeping him alive. Life support in the form of a rager.

Nothing else matters. Just the party. No expenses spared in keeping up the noise and the high and the friction of bodies absentmindedly brushing against each other, then deciding they might as well make the movement intentional. No expenses spared in maintaining the stimulation, in keeping out any and all thought. Mindlessness at all costs.

Jesse doesn’t smile or say a word as he watches the throng of people clogging up his living room and engaging in their vices, but the people-watching manages to keep his breathing steady, and that’s enough for him.

The house is trashed. The walls are tagged in many-colored spray paint. Sleeping bags, pizza boxes, cans, bottles, and pipes litter the floor. It’s incidental to Jesse, who stands staring blankly at the moving colors and shapes and willing his eyes not to well up again. Drinking it all in, he inhales the smell like he’s getting high on the commotion and the stench itself.

He tries to stay high, stay occupied. He tries so fucking hard. But all the pot and all the crystal in the world can’t keep this from washing over him. No matter what chemicals he uses to keep it temporarily at bay, reality remains, and it is coming for Jesse like a tsunami about to make landfall. Using is just a desperate attempt to scrabble to higher ground, and he knows it. He knows that his past will always pull him back and force him to acknowledge the gravity of what he’s done.

He knows it’s coming, and when it does, it pulls him under with unimaginable force.

He shot Gale.

He’s there again, standing in the doorway to Gale’s apartment, pointing a gun at his head as hot tears blur his vision and roll down his face. They stand in silence, then he says it. 

“You can take everything.”

He’s looking straight at him, an image of pure terror that will forever be etched in Jesse’s mind.

“I have money. Lots of money.”

He’s willing himself not to do it, screaming at himself _don’t you do it you stupid motherfucker, you helpless, pitiful fucking fool, you blind sheep, you-_

“You don’t have to do this.”

But he does. He kills him. Shoots him right in the face.

And he’s unable to breathe, lungs filling up with every bad decision he’s ever made as he collapses into the tower of speakers, a spineless mess. No matter how many times he’s forced to relive it, the pain never eases up, and he never hates himself any less or gives himself any room for forgiveness. He _always_ pulls the trigger.

Now, no one seems to notice as the sorrow and regret and self-loathing rip through him, tears spilling seemingly endlessly from his ocean eyes as he collapses onto the floor in a heap, retching with the force of his sobs.

He is drowning in his own living room, and he knows he deserves so much worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this wasn't too bad for my first foray into writing BrBa fic. I do intend to write more for this show as I've recently become obsessed. Feedback and suggestions are greatly appreciated!


End file.
